


Of Red Roses and White Llilies

by SaveErenCorps



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1400s, Characters Death, Cliche, Early 1600s, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Historical, Historical Character(s) - Freeform, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), Human/Country, Hundred years' war, Just watch Elizabeth, Love Confessions, cliche but i hope not, drunk person - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22006900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaveErenCorps/pseuds/SaveErenCorps
Summary: The stories of two women who changed the lives of two nations that were already united by a strong bond.
Relationships: Elizabeth I of England/England (Hetalia), England & France (Hetalia), France (Hetalia)/Jeanne d'Arc | Joan of Arc
Kudos: 16





	1. London, 15th January 1559

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the day of the coronation of Elizabeth I. England finally sees that little girl who has grown up, but it is not only that feeling that makes him get closer to Elizabeth. Perhaps both of them will discover a new and extraordinary feeling that they thought did not really exist, but only in fairy tales.

In the ballroom there was a riot of music and colors that revived the environment that had been mourning so far. England was watching the scene at the ends of the room. He had never liked to chat with people, but he liked dancing very much. It reminded him of when he danced in the woods and he also had a certain natural talent for understanding the steps. But now he preferred not to go on the track, he wanted to see the new queen.  
He hadn't seen her in a while. Ever since her father had died, he had never seen her in the palace and, with Mary, he had not been allowed to visit her. He was curious to see how she had grown up. He realized that when we grew up, we also changed the physical appearance significantly. He too had changed a lot: he was no longer the defenseless little creature of the time, he was now a nation and no one would ever put his feet on his head again.  
"Please welcome your majestic Elizabeth I Tudor." A voice proclaimed making the room explode in applause. England looked up at her. Her red hair was loose and gently sprung on her shoulders, which went even further because of her pale and white powder, she was dressed in a dress not too pompous to allow her to dance and move freely. She was really beautiful. She had changed a lot from the little girl fascinated by his fairies and his stories.

Elizabeth was immediately surrounded by nobles, while England approached.

"Gentlemen, please let our sovereign breathe."

"Arthur! How much time". He moved away from nobles and went against him. She was even more beautiful up close, she looked a lot like her mother.

"Your Majesty". She bent over and took off her feathered hair. "It is an honor to see you again."

"Oh, please, leave the formalities alone." She took his hands making him stand up. "But I'm glad to see you again." She said smiling.

"Me too". He answered smiling too. He was happy to feel her hands warm with life and not as cold as death. Too many mourners had happened in not so little time: Henry, Edward and then it was Mary's turn. He had seen them all grow and assisted them in the kingdom. His heart would always break when someone in the crown died. It wasn't much that he had been recognized as a nation and not as some evil creature, so he was very grateful to the rulers.

"Let's take a walk". She gave him her arm and they walked around the hall.

"So what do you think of this party?"

"I think it was a long time since I came to a party and I forgot how asphyxiating the nobles were."

"Ah, don't tell me about it. I've been living much longer than you and I know what you're talking about. And, I assure you, things have improved".

They laughed cheerfully. He hadn't laughed for so long and he didn't hear her laugh. He still remembered when he told Henry’s children all the tales he knew and also the adventures he had had with his fairy friends. Elizabeth was most fascinated by these. As they chatted, the music changed: it became more cheerful and seemed to remember a melody distant in time. It was one of his favorite music that was danced at the court.  
England turned to Elizabeth and offered her hand. "Would you like to dance with me, my queen?"

"Of course". They entered the track, which in the meantime had freed upon arrival the queen saddle.

They faced each other and came closer and closer following the rhythm of the music. Step by step. When they faced each other, they touched each other with their hands and then turned looking each other in the eyes. They were green like hers and full of inner strength. They were really beautiful.  
When the music was over, he was standing behind her holding his hands, while Elizabeth looked at him with her green eyes like the fields wet with dew. He could feel its light scent and warmth in his hands, while no fly moved. It was as if there were only the two of them in that room. Then the crowd applauded and both woke up from that state of trans in which they ended up. Only now did he notice that he was staring into his eyes and that she had done the same.

"Did you enjoy the dance, my queen?" He asked taking his hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing it. She did not blush but smiled smugly.

"A lot, Arthur, a lot." A strange shiver ran down the England spine at those words. The look in his eyes was also very communicative: they were fixed on him, she wanted him. He took his hand away from his grip and parted from her, leaving her to her duties as a queen, while he watched her from afar. Now he understood what that thrill was and he also knew it was very dangerous. It would only make both of theme suffer and it was better to cut it off immediately.

The party lasted just before everyone was dismissed. England was now in the queen's room, where she would sleep. It was customary for him to sleep in the sovereign's room until the get married, then, since there was no room for him, he would sleep among the servants. At that moment, being the queen not yet married, he had to sleep on a chair. He had not yet been granted a bed, since, in those words, "He was immortal, he did not need to sleep comfortably". When they told him, he was so grateful that he no longer had to sleep in the open air, that he hadn't replied. But now he understood that the chair was not a great place to sleep.  
He had already undressed and remained with a shirt and trousers in tights. Now he waited for the courtesans to undress her. Every time he wondered how women could stay with those tight corsets. They could not even breathe, in fact, they passed out because of this. Even those collars were really annoying and even he couldn't stand wearing them, it always made his neck itch.

"My queen, if you need anything else, just call us". Elizabeth nodded and dismissed them with a wave of her hand. Only the two of them remained, but they said nothing. England sat on the chair, watching her get into bed.

"Arthur". She call him. He still hadn't gotten used to the name. "But now that I'm a queen, can I do what I want?"

"Yes, in a way, yes." He replied, not understanding the question much.

"Then I can go up the stairs as much as I like."  
England laughed. It was a sincere and thunderous laugh. He remembered when little Elizabeth complained to the guardian about this stupid rule that she couldn't go up the stairs alone.

"What are you laughing?"

"Nothing, it's just that I didn't think that as a first edict you would have given your consent to climb all the stairs of the building unaccompanied."

"Hey, try to always wait for someone to go up a small flight of stairs."

"Yes, yes, I remember when I had to give you the hand to go up to your bedroom." He got up and went to her bed. It was uncorfortable to talk to her from the end of the room. "Anyway, yes, now you can do whatever you want. Of course, it needs the consent of the parliament, but otherwise you are free to do anything you want». Elizabeth put her hand on the bed, gesturing for him to be able to sit on the bed. He sat down. He realized now that she was much more beautiful without that make-up. Her eyes then shone in the light of the small candle on the bedside table.

"Do you remember when I told you about fairies and all magical creatures?". He said without thinking.

"How can I forget them? Every day you surprised me more and more with those stories".

"But what stories? It was all true. What? Don't you believe me?". He pointed his finger at her surprised face. "Of course they are true. Every day I told you about what my little fairy friends told me".

"So you want to tell me they exist?"

"Yes. You're the first person I tell it to”

"Really? And why do you say that to me? "

He didn't know it either, just knew that: "I trust you." Elizabeth's eyes lit up with a strange light at those words, then reddened and looked down. Only now he realized he had approached her and had taken her hand with his last words. He also blushed and looked away from her, but neither of them let go.

"Arthur". He turned to her. She had moved closer to his face and her mouth was ajar. He too came over and noticed that her lips were still red from the lipstick. "Arthur ...".

They kissed and everything disappeared. There were just the two of them and their lips dozing off. They were thin, but retained their softness. After that he didn't know how much they separated and looked at each other. It was the first time he had kissed a woman. It was the first time he had kissed a human being. Finally he realized what he had done; he had succumbed to a primordial instinct of the flesh without thinking about the consequences.

"Arthur". He jumped up. He had to leave. "Stop." She took his pulse.

"Let me go".

"No, wait".

"You have to. You realize what happened".

"Sure," she said, getting to her feet, "that's why I'm telling you to stay."

"No, you don't understand." He broke away from his grasp. "This thing can't work"

"Of course it can".

"No. You are a human and I ... I ... I don't even know what I am, but certainly not someone to be with".

"But Arthur…"

"Stop that!". He snapped into his face. She stepped back. He sighed, had gone too far. "Look, it can't work. You ... you're mortal, I'm not. And then you also have to get married to someone if you want to keep this kingdom". He turned his back on him to go to his chair.

"I don't want to get married."

He turned. "What?".

"I said I don't want to get married." His eyes were feet of determination, wild and full of life. 'Who said a queen should get married? I am the queen and, as you said, I can do what I want». Those words hit him. He really said it.

"Plus I'm already betrothed to someone else."

"With who?".

"With you, fool." That was a blow to the stomach. "When I became queen." He added approaching him. «I promised my people that I would govern them and that I would take care of this land. I promised that I would protect, respect, honor and love England as mine and that he, so you, would protect, respect, honor and love me as his". She took his hands and kiss them affectionately. "Isn't this a marriage proposal?"  
England looked at her with wide eyes and felt them pinch. "Even your ancestors did the same, but they got married to someone else anyway".

"But I don't want someone else. I want you".

"But what do you see in a representation of a state like me?".

"But you are not only this. You are also Arthur Kirkland, you are a person who has feelings and emotions. And that's why I want to ask you now: do you want to be my husband?".

He cried. It was no longer the tears of pain that had furrowed her cheeks for so long. These were of joy. Of joy of being loved, of having someone to love, someone who considered him a person and no longer a supernatural being. She embrace him, while he was crying.

They spent the night in the same bed, embracing each other, with their naked bodies touching and sharing the same warmth. Arthur was happy, but even though he knew it wasn't going to last long, he decided that he would enjoy it all the way.


	2. Chion, mars 1429

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of the Hundred Years War, hope finally comes for France, but it's not the only thing that breach in his heart.

The sky was clear even on that day. It had been days since the sky seemed to bring rain, not even a cloud, yet there was a huge dark cloud, heavy and with the smell of death, over all his land: war. This war that had been going on for ninety-two years. Many had now forgotten what the word peace meant and some did not even know what life was like, now surrounded by death. And all this was happening because of the brazenness of that brat he had taken such care of. He had always been stubborn, but now he was really exaggerating. Too bad that the reason is given to the winners and not to the losers; it had lost much of his territory and his population was tired, as well the soldiers.

But the nobles didn't seem to care much about it. He was now in the castle, and the nobles were too busy exalting the Dauphin rather than worrying about not dying. They all knew that France was about to face the defeat and that a miracle was needed for everything to be resolved. “His Excellency the Dauphin!”. A voice shouted, forming the buzz of the nobles. Everyone stepped aside, making space for the messenger to get to the Dauphin.

“Bring water to this man”. Order the Dauphin. “What is happening? Tell”.

“It's… It's… The pucelle… she has arrived”. The nobles began to rumor creating buzz. France had already heard of this Pucelle: it was said that she heard the voices and that she had been sent by God, but many believed her crazy for this. He had no opinion about it. How could he judge a person without even seeing her? “She says ...”. The messenger continued taking a breath. “She says she wants to talk to his ... his excellence the Dauphin”. The nobles looked around, without stopping with that rumor, then turned to the Dauphin. His face was filled with anguish. He too had heard of her, but at the same time he could not trust her, she could be a spy for the British.

“I ...”

“She says it's important”. The messenger continued again.

The Dauphin looked around for an answer that certainly could not come from above. The Dauphin looked at him, looking for an answer. “I'll have to think about it”.

The two days that followed were really tiring. The Dauphin remained both days to consult the opinion of each nobleman, each councilor, each mademoiselle on what to do with the pucelle: welcome her or cast her out? It was all a constant coming and going of people.  
The night of the second day arrived a page and said that the Dauphin wanted to speak to him. On the way to him he marveled at one thing. It was funny how, even if he was treated as their equal, his opinion mattered only in dangerous situations, as if he were the last hope for everything. On other occasions, it wasn't taken into consideration, after all "What could he know about men's things?" He arrived in the Dauphin's room: he was in a nightgown and looked towards the door, where he was at the moment.

“I called you to ask you for an opinion”.

“What do I think of the pucelle?”. The king only nodded. France sighed. “What I think is that voices are voices, and I cannot judge a person without first seeing how he behaves. So, in my opinion, we should welcome her. She could help us in this difficult enterprise”. The king nodded again and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. It was really talkative in those days. However, he seemed to have had an idea of what to do and France was very curious to see what would happen.

The following morning, with the presence of all the nobles, he called the messenger back. “I will welcome the pucelle, but I want to subject it to a test. I want to see, with my own eyes, the great powers of this woman”. He took off his crown and called a page to himself. “You will have to pretend to be me, you will wear my crown and my cloak. We will see if he will kneel to you or to the king to whom she has promised an oath”. He fixed the whole scene and when it was all set up, he sent the messenger to call her. The king stood beside him by the window and made himself as small as possible.

After a while the doors opened. A small girl showed up in the room: she must have been seventeen years old, her blonde hair had been cut by a knife, presumably by herself and she wore an armor that made her look like a poorly fed boy. He wondered why such a beautiful young woman wanted to hide in an armor. Looking at her he could sense that she had sweet and graceful forms that would envy any girl of her age. The little girl looked around as if she was looking for something, then her eyes fell on the figure of the disguised page. He opened his arms and was about to say something when the young woman started to turn around the room. Everyone remained silent at the scene to watch what was going on. The young woman peered at the faces of all the nobles, looking for something, or someone. France looked at her with his heavenly eyes and followed her every move. She seemed to be uncertain with her step, as if she were being pushed by something bigger.  
He was getting closer and closer to them. Step by step. Finally France was able to look her in the face. Her eyes were as clear as the sky, her small lips were slightly pinkish and her hair was blond like gold. When she finally arrived in front of the two of them, she opened her eyes wide and knelt down immediately.

“Oh, Sire! I thank the gentleman for giving me the opportunity to meet the gentle Dauphin and the representation of mine homeland, also called France. I have a message for the Dauphin from the Lord, please be able to speak in private”. The whole room froze. He recognized not only the Dauphin, but also France as a nation.

“O-Okay”. The girl looked up and France was struck by how her eyes were lighted with such a pure and noble light: the Faith. The Dauphin cleared his throat and continued. “Follow me in my rooms”. Both left the room and everyone stared at them.

France still didn’t understand what had happened. An illiterate country girl had just recognized him as a nation. It had taken him time to explain to the various sovereigns what he was and this little girl had recognized him immediately. And then that light in her eyes was too beautiful to be left aside. It was in retrospect of her eyes, he decided that he should speak to him privately.

When the lights of day were falling, France asked for a meeting with the pucelle in the gardens. He knew that no one would be there at that hour and he liked to walk while he thought. When she arrived she still wore her armor, but only now did France realize that she also had a wooden crucifix. It was worn and ruined by time, but she held it around the neck as if it was gold.

“Good evening, my pucelle”.

“Good evening to you too, excellence”.  
France laughed slightly. “But what excellence, I'm not noble. But please, let's walk a little”.  
The girl began to walk beside him. “But, excellence, of course you are noble. After all, you are the homeland of all those born under you”.

“Thank you for your flattery, but, you see, I am not considered as such by many of your fellow citizens. However, that was not why I called you here. I called you here to find out something about you”. Her eyes were fixed on him. He felt like she could see his soul and read his thoughts. He looked away and looked straight ahead, but she continued to stare at him.

“What do you want to know about me, excellence?”.

“But your childhood, your family, your lands”.

“But this is not the real reason why you call me”.

“Pardon?”. France stopped abruptly. Had he really read his thoughts?

“I feel”. He continued approaching him. “That your soul is troubled by a doubt”. His hand rose up to touch his heart. It was really small and could feel the warmth of it from the cloth. France finally looked her in the face. She was much more beautiful from so close and her eyes shone with the same light as before. “What is the question you really want to ask me?”.  
France looked at her for a while, dumbfounded. That this girl had magical powers? England had them and also other nations. Could humans also have these powers too?  
He recovered slightly laughing and moving slightly away from her. “You got me, miss. Well yes, I asked to see you because I would like to know how you recognized me. You know, nobody knows about my existence and, even among the nobles, few know my true identity”.  
The girl nodded, taking her eyes off him. France was slightly ill, she wanted to continue seeing those beautiful eyes.

“The Lord told me”.

“What?”.

“God told me. He speaks to me through the angels who whisper his orders to me”. France could not reply, he only listen. He was too disconcerted by what she was saying. It sounded like a madwoman's speeches, but she felt that all she said was the truth. “It is since I was ten that he speaks to me and even now I have come here precisely for his order”.

“And what did he tell you to do?”. His eyes met hers again. Light blue mixing with another light blue.

“He told me to save France from his enemies and bring him back into the arms of God”. France was amazed. Her eyes were so full of that light that he could not believe that a human creature could have it.

He took a step back, then another.  
What did all this mean? God existed? And then why did he have to save him of all? And why right now and not before? If he wanted to save him why not stop all this? Why not stop England from leaving him? Why not let him still hold that baby in his arms while he slept? Why right now that it was too late?

“I know you had many questions now”. Continue the girl touching his heart. “But that's not what we have to do now. Now we have to go and take back Orléans”. His big blue eyes calmed him by making a strange heat where he had touched him.

“Are you sure of this?”. He asked fearing the answer. “Are you sure we will succeed?”.

“Yes, I'm sure. Because God is on our side”. To this answer he understood that the girl was really the miracle they needed and had no more doubts about its authenticity.

“Okay. I trust you”. He composed himself and looked at her well. She was really pretty as a girl, and he was sure she would become a beautiful woman too. “It will be time to return. You will probably be hungry”. They went back inside the castle. “Anyway, I would have one last question”. She looked at him with her huge blue eyes. “What's your name?”.

“Jehanne D’arc”.

“Ah, a beautiful name. It doesn't surprise me for such a beautiful girl”.

“And what's your name?”. She asked, not blushing at the compliment he made.

“Me? I don't have a name”.

“Really? Let's find one”.

“What?”.

“Yes, wouldn't it be better to have a human name rather than just the name of the nation?”.

“Yes, you are right. Then we can decide it together”.

“I would be delighted, excellence”.

“Ah! Stop calling me ‘Excellence’, call me ... call me ... okay, now we'll think about it”.

On that day, when they were together, they talked and talked. France knew that over time a feeling grew in him. It was a feeling far beyond love, it was faith in that girl who was fighting for a cause far beyond the human knowable. She was fighting for her faith. He was happy to be with her and to be able to hear her speak, sing, pray, laugh. He was happy to have found someone who did what she did for someone who really cared about him. He was just happy.


	3. London, March 1602

It was raining that day in London. France knew it wasn't new in those lands, but he was still annoyed by this constant grayness. It was incredible how every day was like that in those cold lands. He was going, with his carriage, to London. It hadn't been that long that he left this land and he was finally arriving. He was tired of this trip, he just wanted to sleep in a bed and have a decent meal, even if he couldn't find anything better there. From what he understood he was almost close to his destination and the landscape also showed it. All the lands around had been used for breeding or destined for wealthy families to take care of them.

While looking at the landscape he saw something: a figure moving convulsively near a tree. He had the carriage blocked: it seemed he was someone he knew but he hoped it wasn't. He went out and approached it with one hand on the sword, it could be dangerous and he didn't want to be seen unprepared.

When he arrived at that figure he realized that he was a man, he was very elegantly dressed, but his clothes were worn and patched, a large feathered hat hid his straw-colored hair, while he was tormenting the poor tree with a sword.

He couldn't believe what was going on, he was sure he wouldn't find him there. He didn't have time to say something that the man suddenly turned and pointed his sword to his throat. France looked at him: the face wet from the rain, the red eyes green and the lips damaged by numerous bites.

"Angleterre....?"

"Do not call me like that!". He said in a mixed voice. He was drunk. "He's Captain for you."

“Angleterre, let's be reasonable. Could you lower your sword in front of your big brother?".

“Who?”.

But was he pretending to be dumb or did he want him to really say? “Frog-Face”.

“Ah!”. He lowered his sword and France heaved a sigh of relief. He seemed to have slightly returned to reason. England lowered his head, along with the sword and did not look at him. “What are you doing here?”.

“Nothing, just want to take a walk. But rather, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on some ship exploring the seas?”. England did not reply, but clenched his fist with the sword. Then he looked up at him and showed his teeth with a sardonic smile.

“Since when can I not come to visit my capital? Do I need a special permit?”.

“No, I didn't mean this, only... I didn't see you much around. Every time I came here you weren't here. Ever since Elizabeth-”.

It was a moment. England came to him with his sword in hand and his eyes burning with anger. “DON'T SAY HER NAME!”. France had a moment to put his sword between them, but his fury was greater.

“Anglettere! What the fuck is going on with you?!”. He did not reply, but continued to push his blade towards him. France managed to push him away with a push, but fell to the ground in the mud. England pointed a gun at him. “Anglettere, stop it! You are not in yourself!”.

“Close that big mouth of yours!”. His hand was shaking slightly from all the alcohol in his mood. “You don't know! You don't know what I'm feeling! So you just have to shut up!”.

“Anglettere...?”. He said sweetly. He was suffering from something, but he didn't quite understand what. Then he remembered news that had come to him a few days ago. Elizabeth was dead. How had he been aware of it only now? “Anglettere, I'm sorry for what happened, but if we talk about it-”.

“What?! Nothing will happen! I don't need your words of pity!”.

“Anglettere…”.

“Stop it call me like that!”. He pulled the trigger. France closed her eyes, waiting for the blow. But he did not leave: the dust was wet. France took the opportunity. He kicked the base of his feet, causing him to fall to the ground and he jump up. When England fell to the ground, he passed out from the blow. He did not believe with such a small blow he would have laid a tough man like him.

He looked at him: his face, even when he passed out, was in pain; the eyes, cheeks and nose were red from both alcohol and tears. He had to do something. He certainly could not leave him in the rain. He lift him up and, leaning him on this shoulder, carried him to the carriage. They both needed refreshment.

When England woke up, he no longer felt the cold and wet on his skin, but the heat and the dry. He was no longer on hard ground, but on a soft surface and the rain had stopped hammering on him, but he still heard the noise, muffled. He tried to open his eyes, but was blinded by a light, also warm, and by a severe headache. He didn't have to drink all that beer and, at the same time, he couldn't be laid out after so little beers. With all his might he sat on what looked like a bed. He looked around and realized that he was inside a room, but he did not understand where and how he had arrived above all.

Another twinge of headache made him moan with pain. Since when did he not get such a hangover? He put his hand on his head and found that he no longer had the hat or the bandana underneath. His hair was also dry from all the rain he had taken. He also saw that he no longer had clothes on. How on earth did he end up in that situation?

"Ah, I see you're awake." Said a voice. England jumped on the spot and immediately covered his bare chest with the blankets. France watched him sitting on a chair with a book in his hand. 'You've been sleeping all day. By now it will be 17:30. "

"What are you doing here?". He burst out. His eyes stared at him with hatred, but he didn't seem to care much. But he put the book down.

"What? Can't a big brother take care of his little brother?”

"I am no longer a child or a vassal of yours, frog."

"I know all too well." He replied with a sigh. England was about to respond, but another pang stopped him. France came up with a jug and a glass. “Get some water. You will feel better". He placed it on a nearby table. England took it and drank it, while France sat at the foot of her bed.

"Who gave you permission?"

"The fact that I rented this room.". They remained silent without looking into each other's eyes. Only the sound of rain filled the room. Then France sighed.

“Since when do you let yourself go like this?”. England glared at him. “Don't make that face. I'm just worried about you. Anyway, since when do you let yourself go like this? Seriously, I've always heard of you as terror among the Spaniards and I assure you Spain is not afraid of anything. I-”.

“Stop giving breath to your mouth! Anyway, who cares? Since when do you worry about your vassal? You never did, why right now?”.

“This is not true! I have always taken care of you”.

“Yet you let my people chase me, hurt me, kill me”. He said these last words with resentment. “You never gave a damn about me ... Only she cared about me...”. He lowered his head and looked at his hands. They were full of calluses and cuts, but he could still feel the delicacy of Elizabeth's hand close to his: soft, small and warm.

Silence fell again, but France moved closer. England did not reject him. “Would you like to tell me a little about her?”.

England snorted. “As if you could understand. The only contact you have with humans is to have sex with theme”. He turned his head away and rested his arms crossed on his knees, curling up. France didn't answer immediately, but then snorted amused.

“Do you think so?”. His voice was sour, as if there was a point of hatred. “Yet you should know better than anyone that it has never been this way”. He stood up, giving him his back. England looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Do you remember the Hundred Years War?”.

“How not? The one where I almost defeated you”.

“Here, Almost. Anyway do you also remember a little girl?”. England spun around. “Light complexion as milk; red cheeks like poppies; short hair, but blond like gold and two big blue eyes like the sky. She also had such small, gentle hands, but they could be as powerful as a man's when she had a sword in her hand”. As he said these words gently, England was slowly understanding. “Her name was Jeanne D'Arc. I loved her, with sincere, pure and chaste love. And you”. He turned again and indicated it with an accusing finger. His eyes were full with hetred. “You took her away from me”. England could not believe those words. How had all this happened, without him noticing?

“I-I...”.

“No”. He block him with a cold respond “I don’t need your apologies for what happened. After all, war is war”. He sighed again and his face softened again. “But know that I know how you feel”.

Words died in his throat. After all these years he had never known that France had an affair with that little girl. He remembered little of her, his existence had not been important, he had always considered her a small insect to be crushed. But it had been a thorn in her side ever since she entered the war and even when she died, it continued to be a problem. But now he realized. He had made him feel the same yearning, that he was now experiencing, to France. The only person who had loved him immediately. The only person who hadn't left him behind. The only person who, after so many years, still loved him.

The conversation died again. England did not know what to say after this. “Hey”. France resumed approaching him. “I'm sorry I made you feel guilty. I didn’t want to”. He touched him on the shoulder with affection. How did he do it? How did he manage to be so kind after he destroyed his happiness? Now he knew what he had suffered. How did he forgive him? “I was just leting out my feelings and…” His eyes tingled. He let out a whisper. France stop. “What did you say, Angleterre?”.

“I-I'm sorry...”. He could not hold back. He started to cry and hugged France tightly. How did he could talk to him again? How could he stand him again? How did he smile at him in that sweet way? France, although taken by surprise, squeezed him and ran his hand on his back, as a sign of comfort. England began to sob. How did he love him so much?

They remained in that position until England calmed down a bit. France was slightly happy that he had vented himself in some way. He had asked for two hot glasses of flavored wine at the mistess and now they were sipping in silence. The rain had calmed down a bit, but it made no sign of stopping.

“So”. France resumed after a little calm. “Would you like to tell me about her? I am curious to know who was that woman who conquered the heart of such a grumpy man”.

England smiled sadly. “She was strong. A woman of character that nobody could have stopped her”.

“A bit like you”. France interrupted him.

England nodded. “She was the first person who respected my will. Can you believe it? My opinion counted for her! When she asked if I wanted to be married to her, I cried. It was the first time anyone had asked me if I wanted anything! And then she gave me a room all to myself! With my closet, my bed, my place to refresh myself! She said that as a living being I needed my own room. " His eyes were brightening every time he added something about her. France listened in silence. He was happy that he had found someone like his Jeanne, but he was sad because he, like himself, had lost it forever. "You know France, she was the one who made me a corsair. When she was talking to me about this new idea, I think she saw curiosity in my eyes. In fact he asked me: ‘Would you like to be a privateer?’. She didn't have to repeated twice. She gave me a ship of my own and a crew of faithful men. So I started my business, all in his name”. The smile slowly disappeared from his lips, but continued. “And always because of this I was not able to stay close to her in her last moment." He did not continue. Only now, France, did he realize that it was no longer raining. He looked at the sky outside: it was still gray, but it was no longer raining.

"For me was the same when Jeanne was captured." Continued France. "I knew it when it was too late." England listened without comment. He was also curious about that little girl who had really breach in the heart of that nymphomaniac. “I hadn't gone to battle with her that time and I didn't know what had happened until I got a letter from a trusted man of mine. When I went to the Dauphin, at that time king, to discuss it with him, he told me that he already knew it”. England could feel all the pain in those words along with the hatred and the lost trust. France start embrace himself. “He told me there was no need for me to know. And when I asked him to do a rescue expedition, do you know he answered me? I’t's not necessary. After all, I don't want to fight anymore, so she also disobeyed my will. That's what he deserves’.”.

England stay silent, then ask: “But did you love her?”.

“More than any other person in the world”.

The silence fell between them again, then France took the floor again with a sigh.

“You know, she even gave me a human name”.

“Really?”.

“Oui. Francis, like that saint of Assisi. She told me it was a way of remembering that in order to receive so much, one must have little. At first I didn't understand what she meant, but now I understand”. He smiled at him and England blushed. Why did he do these things without warning?

“I have a human name too: Arthur. They had given it to me after the war of the two roses, but only Elizabeth made it official”.

He burst out with joy. “C'est tres jolie! Don't you find it beautiful that we both have a human name? Why don't we call each other like this from now on? I'm calling you Arthur and you Francis?”.

“I find that Frog-Face fit you more”. He retorted with a sardonic smile.

France pulled down and so they started fighting as they usually do. But they both knew, deep down, that they held each other and that perhaps this had bound them even more. Both of theme had had a woman they cared about and both had loved her with all their heart.


End file.
